Class 




Book .R.li rPfc 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



^0 



ICI.A.5 1 1551 



Copyright, 1918, 
by 

Bernjce Margaret Bradfcmi!). 



:EB 13 1919 



THE TRAIL OF THE YELLOWSTONE. 

Who follows the trail of the Yellowstone, he treads 
a devious way, 

Where the waters tumble and toss and moan ^hru 
darksome night and thru day ; 

They tumble and toss o'er the precipice to the 
gloomy depths below. 

Where never a ray of sunlight gleams on the wave- 
tips white as snow. 

Who follows the trail of the Yellowstone, he treads 

a wondrous way. 
For the Canyon walls form a picture grand in 

the sunlight's dying ray ; 
And over the fall, thru the cloud of spray, there 

shines God's beautiful bow. 
With gorgeous purples and greens and reds, and 

yellows that brightly glow. 

Who follows the trail of the Yellowstone, he treads 
a dangerous way ; 

Under the sad and whispering pines where the 
grizzly stands at bay ; 

For the silver tip is lord of the land along the Yel- 
lowstone trail. 

And he deals a blow with his mighty paw that 
would shatter a coat of mail. 

Who follows the trail of the Yellowstone will come 

at last to the day 
Where the waters cease their dreary moan and 

flow in peace away; 
They flow in quiet loveliness with never a spray oh 

their crest, 
Until at length they reach their home in the broad 

Missouri's breast. 

S 



THE END OF THE TRAIL. 

A wild and wayward woodsy trail runs over the 

hill away 
Up thru the dark and whispering pines, whither I 

cannot say; 
But I shall follow this wanton trail wherever it 

may lead ; 
Whether across the mountain high, or thru the 

flowery mead. 

On and on past the bubbling spring, where myriad 

wild flowers grow ; 
On and on round the foot of the hill, where the 

waves of the river show. 
And all along this wandering trail bloom flowers 

on either hand; 
The yellow snapdragon and blue lupine, and the 

gentian cover the land. 

The purple monk's hood, straight and tall, glows 

in some darksome spot. 
And on the bank of a babbling brook blooms the 

forget-me-not. 
The Indian paint brush brightly gleams in a sunny 

forest glade. 
And in its glowing scarlet seems the brightest 

flower e'er made. 

Then up the hill winds the little trail under the 

whispering pines; 
Up and up to the very top where the hack-ma-tack 

berry shines; 
Here I have come to the end of the trail ; I pause 

on the very brink 
Of a dark and gloomy mountain tarn where wild 

beasts come to drink. 
6 



And I find that the woodsy, wayward trail that I 

have followed so dizzily, 
Mayhap was made by the timid deer, mayhap by 

the savage grizzly. 
And I must go back the way that I came, back to 

the haunts of men ; 
But deep in my heart of heart, I know I shall find 

my trail again. 



♦ * ♦ 

THE BLUEBIRD. 

A flash of blue flame at my window-pane ; 

A flutter of wings, and a merry note 

From a cerulean feathered throat; 
My friend the bluebird is here again. 

Where have you been, friend bluebird, 

These long, long months since I saw you last? 
Thru what climes have your fleet wings passed? 

What unknown melodies have you heard? 

But 0, I care not, my little friend, 
Since once again you are with me here ; 
After the long, cold winter drear. 

To linger till the summer's end. 

Flutter and flirt at my window-pane, 

Singing your song of joyous glee. 

Bringing a piece of the sky to me, 
Thru summer sunshine or autumn rain. 



KNOCK ON WOOD. 

Eons since, in the golden days, 
When the forests thronged with fauns and fays, 
Whenever a nymph was in danger she could 
Find comfort and rest in the heart of the wood. 

Qnce in that time long since agone, 
A fay was closely pursued by a faun ; 
All breathless beside an oak she stood, 
And softly began to knock on wood. 

happy thought ! a door sv/ung side, 

And soon the fay was safe inside. 

And thankfully she understood, 

'Tv/as because she happened to knock on wood. 

NoAv since that time, long years are flown, 
And faun and fay alike are gone ; 
But if we would have our fortune good. 
We must not forget to knock on wood. 

The years are fled, 

The fauns are dead. 
That followed the fays with flying feet; 

But the list'ning ear 

Can almost hear 
Their voices still in some green retreat. 

And now there stands 

Built up by hands, 
A lown where the home of the wood-nymphs »tood ; 

Still voices call 

Through bower and hall ; 
"Always remember to knock on wood." 

8 



BEAR LAKE, THE BEAUTIFUL 

O beautiful Lake of the Bear 

Nestled midst hills of green, 
Your waters so blue and so fair 

To me are the dearest e'er seen. 
For when the joyous spring has come, 
And crickets chirp and wild bees hum, 
The tamarack droops her plumy sprays 

Throughout the shining golden days. 

Above you water lilies grow 

Nature's purest, sweetest child. 
With rubbery stems and bloom of snow 
Sprung from the mud yet undefiled. 
The tall spikes of the cardinal flower 
Gleam from the marshland's emerald bower. 
The lady's-slipper, orchid rare, 
Fox-glove and Indian pipe are there. 

But when October dims the sky 

The aster shows her purple rays 
And flocks of geese go honking by 

Sumac and maple redly blaze. 
Then winter comes with icy breath 
And dooms your flowers to sudden death. 
But even in your shroud you're fair, 
For O, I love you, Lake of the Bear! 

♦•♦ •;» »> 

IN MICHIGAN. 

'Tis blowing time in Michigan ; 
The cherry blooms are white ; 
The peach tree blushes overhead; 
The apple boughs are widely spread ; 
They thrill me with delight. 
9 



Tis growing time in Michigan f 
The trees are bending down 
With purple plum and apple red ; 
The luscious pear hangs overhead ; 
The fields are turning brown. 

'Tis snowing time in Michigan! 
The roads are drifted deep; 
While buried far beneath the snow 
The seeds and blossoms down below 
Lie locked in dreamless sleep. 

snowing, growing, blowing time, 

1 love you one and all! 

The bright and lovely blow time. 
The white and shining snow time, 
The red and glowing fall! 

But blowing, growing, snowing time,. 
I know not which is best! 
The first is but the promise fair; 
The second is the fruitage rare; 
The last, the time of rest! 

♦ ♦ * 

BIRDS IN SUMMER. 

THE ORIOLE. 

On the topmost twig of the tall elm tree, 
The oriole sits and flutters and sings ; 
His little heart bubbles over in glee, 
And far and wide through the welkin rings 
The liquid melody of his note, 
And these the words he is singing sweet, 
"Peter, peter, peter, pete." 
10 



THE SCARLET TANAGER. 

A dart of flame beneath the sky; 

A whir of wings as he dashes by ; 

A flood of notes from the telepnone wire; 

The red-bird's song like his coat, a fire. 

THE SWALLOW. 

Swallow, swallow, flying low, 

Whither dost thou swallow go? 

Through the twilight pale and wan, 

Whither has the swallow gone? 

To the chimney deep and wide, 

Where the baby swallows hide. 

From its cavern dark and deep, 

Comes their cheerful "Cheep ! cheep ! cheep !'^ 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

A THOUGHT OF YOU. 

There's ever a song somewhere, dear, 

Under the morning skies, 
Ever a note of bird-cheer 

To greet the glad sunrise. 
There's ever a song somewhere, dear, 

Under the skies of blue, 
Ever a thought in my heart, dear, 

A thought of you. 

Then let us hark for the song, dear, 

Whether skies "be blue or gray; 
The night that seems so long, dear, 

May break in glorious day. 
So look for the rift in the cloud, dear, 

That shows the bonny blue. 
And I'll keep the thought in my heart, dear, 

The thought of you. 
11 



THE VOICE OF SPRING. 

I am coming! I am coming! 

Don't you hear the voice of spring? 
Don't you hear the wild bees humming? 

Don't you see the flowers I bring? 

I am coming down the mountain 
With my light and joyous feet; 

I am hast'ning to the fountain 
Where the winds and waters meet. 

Don't you smell the breath of orchards 
On the incense-laden breeze? 

Don't you get the scent of honey 
From the homeward going bees? 

Don't you see the rivulets swirling 
Down the distant mountain side? 

Don't you see their foam-skirts whirling 
Like a maiden's in her pride? 

Don't you see the fresh growth swelling 
On the twiglets of the pine? 

And the bluebird pick his dwellmg 
In this forest haunt of mine ? 

Don't you see the red-bud glowing 
On the distant eastern plain? 

And the robin's red coat showing 
By the mighty inland main ? 

Don't you hear the oriole calling 
From the tallest orchard tree? 

Don't you see the blossoms falling 
In white showers o'er the lea? 



12 



Don't you see the flowers I bring? 

Don't you hear the insects hum? 
Don't you hear glad voices ring — 

"Spring is coming ! Spring is come !" 

•> ••• <• 

WEARY FOR THE SIGHT OF YOU. 

I am weary, love, I'm weary, weary for the sight 

of you ; 
The world is dreary, dreary, missing the light rf 

you. 
For I miss you, dear, I miss you, from twilight till 

the dawn. 
And in my dreams I kiss you, then I wake and 

find you gone. 

I am weeping, love, I'm weeping, weeping just 
because you're gone; 

And the hours go slowly creeping from the twi- 
light till the dawn. 

Yes the hours creep so slowly from the dawn unt^l 
the night, 

And I miss your presence holy, in the dark as i i 
the light. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

DAY. 

There's a light in the sky. 

And a breath in the air ; 
God's all-seeing eye 

Is present everywhere. 
There is dew on the grass ; 

There is frost on the com ; 
The sky gleams like brass ; 

A new day is born. 
13 



THE WIND IN THE PINES. 

The wind is blowing through the pines 
That stand like sentinels of God ; 

It sounds like distant cnapel chimes 
In a church by man untrod. 

wind in the pines, you wring my heart 
With a feeling of exquisite pain ! 

1 hear you sigh as in days gone by, 

And I long for the pines again. 

The pines are standing straight and tall 

With spires that touch the sky ; 
And deep in my heart I shrine them al! 

With a love that will not die. 

f n fancy I see what I saw as a child — 

A forest of pines on fire ; 
The wind is blowing fierce and wild ; 

It roars like an organ choir. 

The red flames leap to the very crest ; 

They crackle and roar in glee; 
They fill v/ith fright the adult breast, 

But they bring no fear to me. 

They stand like flaming swords of light 

'Gainst a black and inky sky; 
The stars grow dim and hide their light, 

And the wind goes rushing by. 

But the One who watches over all, 

Brings us safely to our goal ; 
Though the flames leap high and the great 
pines fall, 

They harm not a human soul. 

14 



wind in the pines you bring me dreams 

Of the pale blue April days; 
Of the shy sweet mayflower's gentle beaifts; 

Of the cardinal flower ablaze. 

Of asters blue and golden-rod, 

And October's purple haze, 
As I sit and dream of the Michigan pines 

In the autumn of my days. 

wind in the pines, blow on! blow on! 

I love your mournful tones 
As I love the sound of Michigan's waves, 

Lapping over the stones. 

Blow on! blow on! wind in the pines! 

May your murmurs never cease ! 
The thought of the pines in my memory 
shines. 

Like a vision of lasting peace. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

MY LAKE. 

When the blue of the lake meets the blue of the nky 
And the white sea-gulls go whirling by. 
And Michigan's waves in white foam break, 
'Tis then that I love my own dear lake. 

When the white gulls cry, and the surf rolls Mgh, 
And thundering breaks on the rocky shore; 
When foam-flakes flash, and surges crash, 
I long for the lake land more and more. 

But when the sun sinks in the West, 
'Tis then I love my lake the best ; 
For all the hues in heaven that glow, 
Are mirrored in my lake below. 

15 



BLACKBERRY BLOOMS. 

O the scent of the blackberry blooms ! 

Sweeter than breezes from Araby! 
It comes to my senses wherever I roam 

Through the sun-kissed regions of Arcady 1 

Under the spreading forest trees, 
Gaily I jaunt in my one-horse shay, 

Sniffing the incense laden breeze, 
Sweeter far than breath of May. 

Violets yellow and white and blue, 

Sprinkle the forest sod, 
■ Sweetest flower that ever grew. 
In regions still untrod. 

But 0, the sweet white blackberry flowers 
That bloom in the Michigan woods ! 

Naught could replace this friend of ours 
In the forest solitudes. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

OH TO BE IN MICHIGAN. 

Oh to be in Michigan, now that May is here! 
.Whan the shrilling note of the robin is the earliest 

sound v/e hear, 
And orchard-blossoms like the snow, are billowing 

far and near ! 

Oh to be in Michigan in the glad days of July ! 
Whm. the crickets chirp, and grasshoppers whir 

oiider a cloudless sky ; 
And the sweet white blackberry blossoms in the 

\srtMwood meet the eye ! 
16 



Oh to be in Michigan in October's purple haze ! 
With wild geese honking northward through all 

the blue, bright days ; 
When beech-leaves all are turning brown and 

maples redly blaze ! 

Oh to be in Michigan in joyous winter time! 
When diamond sparks are on the snow and merry 

sleighbells chime ; 
And voices sweetly mingle in the current of the 

rime! 

Oh to be in Michigan at any time of year ! 

In bloomy May or hot July, October bright, No- 

vember sere 
Or in the gladsome winter time ! No other land'e 

so dear ! 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

MY HEART' IN THE NORTHLAND! 

My heart's in the Northland, my heart's far away ! 
My heart's in the Northland by night and by day ; 
No matter how lonely, no matter how drear. 
My heart's in the Northland, my heart is not here. 

I love its deep ravines, I love its high hills, 
With love for the Northland my heart ever thrills ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I go. 
My heart's with the Northland, its ice and its 
snow. 

Farewell to the Northland, Fate calls me afar; 
The doorway to fortune seems standing ajar; 
Bui whatever the lessons in life I may learn, 
My heart to the Northland shall ever return. 

17 



O BLUE SKY OF MONTANA! 

0. blue sky of Montana, you are not blue to me, 
For I have seen a bluer above a far blue sea, 
Where the great waves toss and tumble as they 

dash upon the shore, 
Then wildly scurry backward to break in spray 

once more, 
Vpiere the white gulls scream in chorus 
As they dart through the crests of snow, 
\Yith the blue sky arching o'er us, 
And the blue, blue lake below. 

But great state of Montana, I love you just the 

same: 
I love your noble forest touched with the autumn's 

flame; 
I love your mighty rivers that madly rush and 

foam, 
Each swiftly hast'ning downward to its distant 

ocean home; 
I love your snow-clad mountains with peaks that 

kiss the sky ; 
Your canyons and your fountains, and the white 

clouds floating by. 

But blue sky of Montana, you are not blue to me, 
For I have seen a bluer above an inland sea — 
My ovvn dear blue Lake Michigan with white and 

pebbly shore — 
And 0, I wish and wish again to see my lake once 

more. 



18 



WITH RADIANT GRIEF TOO DEEP FOR 
TEARS. 

With radiant grief too deep for tears 
I see the boys go marching by, 
Their banners flaunting toward the sky. 
And glad faith triumphs over fears. 

Columbia hears the cry of France ! 
She grasps the sword with steady hand ! 
She waves aloft her battle brand ! 
The shrilling bugles call: " Advance!" 

The writing is upon the walls 
That tells the Hun of coming doom ; 
On earth there is for him no room; 
His throne is tottering toward its fall. 

Then Belgium's grsss shall greenly spring 
Fed by the blood of friend and foe, 
And grain shall v/ave and flowers blow, " 
And happy birds shall fly and sing. 

And Serbia's child once more shall smile, 
Her woman's face be glad again; 
Like sunshine breaking through the rain 
That has endured this weary while. 

Then Poland, too, shall rise in light 
To a free place in a free world ; 
Her conquered flags that long were furled 
Shall proudly wave, unsoiled and bright. 

The Hun shall from his throne be hurled ; 
All downcast nations free shall breathe ; 
Her sword Columbia shall sheathe; 
Democracy shall rule the world. 

19 



IN ARCADY. 

Once I dwelt in Arcady ; 
All the land was fair to see ; 
Blue-eyed maid lived there with me, 
In the land of Arcady. 

O the land of Arcady ! 
Nevermore I shall it see! 
Half my heart lies there with thee, 
Fairest maid in Arcady. 

Arcady was passing fair ; 
Birds sang gaily through the air ; 
Orchard blossoms like the sea. 
In the land of Arcady. 

0, thou land of Arcady, 
Nevermore I'll look on thee ! 
All my heart lies there in thee. 
With the maid of Arcady. 



A A A 



JUST TO SEE MY LOVE AGAIN. 

When the sparkle's on the snow and the frost is on 

the pane, 
To my Northland home I'll go just to see my love 

again. 
Just to look into her eyes, with their lashes softly 

brown, 
Just to see her sweet surprise ere she casts them 

gently down. 
When the frost is on the pane and the sparkle's on 

the snow, 
Just to see my love again to my Northland home 

rii go. 

20 



When the sleigh-hells softly jingle underneath the 

silver moon, 
And our voices sweetly mingle in the current of 

the tune; 
Then I'll tell her that I love her, and I'll claim her 

for my own, 
While the stars shine bright above her, and the 

snow's with diamonds sown. 
While the stars shine bright above her, and the 

snow's with diamonds sown. 
Then I'll tell her that I love her, and I'll claim her 

for my own. 



THE RAIN CALL OF THE ROBIN. 

The rain call of the robin falls on my list'ning ear, 
Par over field and forest resounding sweet and 

clear, 
A joyful promise bringing to the meadows parched 

and sere. 

With earliest dawn awaking and calling swift and 

soon, 
Through all the sultry morning and the drowsy 

afternoon, 
And now at falling twilight, he is singing to the 

moon. 

Sweet over brooding forest and o'er the listening 

plain, 
Sweet over shaded pathway, and o'er the waving 

grain. 
Sweet to the heart of the weary comes the robin's 

call for rain. 

21 



TO ANN ARBOR. 

I stood at the top of the Boulevarde 

And gazed at the valley below. 

I saw the tall spires of the city 

And the slow-moving Huron. 

Aloft, on the opposite hill 

I beheld the domes and the towers 

Of the great University 

That first of all the States 

Upheld the lamp of learning 

To the vast Middle West. 

Then in memory I saw the grand old man 

Who gave her her fine reputation — 

Dr. Angell, our beloved President, 

Who for thirty years there lived and ruled, 

I thought of the men and women 

Who had sat beneath his teaching 

Then gone forth to fill their places in a world of 

men, 
Lawyers and teachers and preachers. 
And that large group of fine mettle 
Who laid dov/n their lives in foreign lands 
To save the souls of the heathen. 
I thought of the men who answered Columbia's 

call 
When civil war threatened to rend her asunder. 
Their memory clings round the cannon. 
Then suffering Cuba called for aid, 
And America sprang to arms, 
And Michigan stood in the fore-front, 
In the noblest war, until now, ever waged. 
Not with a hope for sehisn gain 
But from pure love of humanity. 
And Cuba free, Cuba lihre, 

22 



Feels her heart throb with gratitude. 

And to-day, in this mightiest conflict 

Since ever the world began 

Dries with a single voice : 

"Take my money, my men, my all, 

And use them as yours 

To make the world safe for Democracy." 

And Michigan's sons have gone out 

In the pride of their lusty manhood 

To oirer them selves as a wall of men 

Betwixt the world and the Hun. 

To fight, percnance to fall ! 

If so, what then ? 

Better by far is a glorious death 

Than a coward's life of dishonor. 

O Michigan, mother of State Universities ! 

Thou art beloved of my soul. 

As thou art of the souls 

Of all thy myriad sons and daughters ; 

Long may you live and flourish 

And stand, in the time to come, 

As you stood in the days that are gone. 

Ever in the front of the battle. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

Daintiest flower of Northern spring, 
When the sun shines and the robins sing 

Overhead in the pines ; 
Like a star in the night-time 
Heralding the bright time, 

Your pink flower shines. 

23 



Clad in your dress of waxen green^ 
Of fairest hue and of glossy sheen, 

You show your face; 
When the dead leaves are removed. 
All your sweetness then is proved, 

And lovely grace. 



♦> ♦I* ♦!♦ 



WHERE THE MANISTEE IS FLOWING. 

Where the Manistee is flowing, 

Gently flowing to the Lake. 
Past its forests greenly growing 

And its meadows fringed with brake. 
There my heart is longing ever, 

Ever longing there to be. 
By the gently flowing river. 

By the lovely Manistee. 

Where the Manistee goes winding 

Past the hillsides fair and green. 
Sure no dearer spot I'm finding, 

'Tis the fairest ever seen : 
For the hills are clad with forest 

And the forest filled with flowers. 
And the birds are ever singing 

In the leafy woodland bowers. 

Whether in the radiant June-time 

When the air is sweet with rose. 
Or in the blue October 

When the sumac brightly glows. 
my heart is longing ever. 

Ever longing there to be. 
By the gently flowing river. 

By the winding Manistee. 
24 




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